Page 133 of Trigger Happy Ending

Three Weeks Ago

Ostands in front of me in the kitchen of the apartment, inspecting the contents of the briefcase. Ten vials of PARM-17 lay snug amongst the black foam. The most dangerous thing on the planet. No part of me wants to hand over the only vials in existence to the worm who orchestrated the entire nightmare. Mission accomplished, but with a huge cost. My ribs ache every time I breathe. I haven’t slept in … fuck if I know how long. Not properly since Raine was taken anyway. Not since I slaughtered those MC cocksuckers and dragged her limp, broken body out of that hellhole.

She’s lying in the hospital, comatose. She’s been that way for two weeks since her life-saving surgery. Medical staff can’t say when—if—she’ll even wake up. I spend every waking second by her side. I can’t bear to be away from her. Maybe I’m obsessed, maybe it’s unhealthy, I don’t know … What I do know is I’m crazy in love with her, and I need her to know I’m there. I need her to fight.

This moment with O is the first time I’ve left her side, and it’s to trade all I am for her. But O hasn’t given me an answer yet, which is making me irritated and increasingly frustrated as the minutes tick by. I click my jaw as O rambles on about PARM-17.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” O murmurs, tracing his fingers over the glass vials. “The amount of power in these tiny vials.”

“Do we have an agreement?” I ask, changing the subject. I couldn’t give two shits about the serum. Unless it can bring Raine back from the brink of death, I don’t give a shit.

O shuts the case slowly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. She walks away. Free to live life as a normal citizen.”

“And you think someone like Raine is capable of living a normal life?”

“It doesn't matter what I think.”

O huffs out a half-assed smile. I’ve been trained to withhold information my whole life and I’m not about to crack now. Not to evil personified.

“And in return,” O says, “You remain? An operative until the day you die?”

I don’t flinch. “Yes.”

“I’m curious, Soren. You’re about to be a free, very wealthy man, yet you’re trading your freedom for a woman who you couldn’t stand a few months ago. Help me understand.”

“Things change.”

He leans back, studying me like I’m a fucking lunatic. “When did you fall for her?”

I don’t answer; instead, I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Fuck this guy and his questions.

O smiles, and there’s nothing nice about it. “You love her.”

I stare at his one putrid good eye. For a brief moment, my mind drifts to the memory of how satisfying it felt, gouging out the eyes of Alex. What would it feel like to gouge out a glass eye? I’d fucking love to find out.

O shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Fine. I’ll grant the trade. On one condition.”

“What’s the condition?”

“You don’t get to see her again. Ever.”

My heart stops. The beating simply grinds to a screeching halt. What the hell kind of condition is that?

“That’s not happening. That’s not fu–”

“Fine.” O snips lightly. “Trade not granted.”

I run my hands through my hair, frustration rippling off my body. “What is it with you, huh? You get some kind of sick satisfaction out of tormenting people?”

“Tormenting?” O chuckles softly. “Try controlling. But you wouldn’t know much about that. Control is something you’ve never really been able to grasp, have you, Soren? Even back in your days in black ops, you were never really in control. You’ve always been a pawn in someone else’s chess game. You couldn't control your rage, which made you a feared soldier, sure … but at the end of the day? You were still just a faithful dog, sitting on command. Some of us are born to lead, while others are born to obey. You’re the latter, Soren. I couldn’t give a flying fuck if it’s you or Raine who is free … so make your decision. What’s it going to be?”

My body vibrates with rage as the words penetrate me in a way that’s so uncomfortable because it’s true. Who am I if not someone answering orders? I don’t even notice my fists curl into a ball until I feel my fingernails carving indents into the palm of my hands.

I’m fucked.

I’m out of options.